A Memorial for a Nightmare
by NorthernShinigami
Summary: A series of angsty, mysterious tragic one-shots surrounding Yumichika and Ikkaku. It can be friendship, it can be romance too, your call! M for reason, my dear redears. There's lots of blood, gore, death, love, and sadness inside so beware!
1. The InsideOut SunDown

**Disclaimer**: I don't own bleach ..or the song Forgotten by Linkin Park...or Yumichika...which is good, 'cause I'm a sadist.

This is supposed to be friendship, but It just didn't felt complete without that small part about _'the K word'_, you know?._...and no, this is NOT a romance. But then again, who knows...

**Warnings**:...mentions of rape (I REALLY tried to keep it T rated but...), And lots of lots of blood and gore, you were warned,_ be ware_.

So it's redone. It's not much though but...

Special thanks to dear Pixagi~!It was only what? two, three sentences? but it's much better to read like that! and.. thanks to the one that opened my eyes to the un-needed line in this chapter, 'cause honestly, reading it again sounded so weird so I simply erased that line (and sorry for scaring you with...2-3 replies?)...and of course, thanks to the reviewers and the Fav's and alart's~

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With the evening's cool breeze and tinted horizon, people passed to and through from one place to another, most of them are free of worries now that the war is over, laughing with their friends or colleagues, only slightly perturbed from work's deadline or of this or that.

However, that wasn't the case for the strongest and toughest Division in whole Seireitei, since the mighty Captain and Vice-captain were off to a mission, and the lot of the Squad's crew were scattered in where they lied, bleeding and mostly unconscious.

Thus, the sun was setting, casting it's yellowish light through the window of the same division's Fifth-Seat's room.

The yellowish sun-ray landed inside the darkened space, revealing a slight sight of still dripping wet dark locks hanging above crimson-stained, ripped night-robe resting against the wall, falling on the pale bruised skin of the arms, pale marked neck, shoulders and upper exposed chest and back covered with pink, purple and blue marks along with long red scratches and nail-marks. The lower part of the night-robe was turned up to the tights, revealing long legs in the same state as the upper body resting between a different pair of black clad, muscled legs, dripping wet with water, sweat and blood all over, expanding the shining crimson pool on the already stained floor.

The ray of light also revealed the form of another, the much sinister figure of the owner of those black clad legs, kneeling down, hovering too close above the violated figure. His five-clawed hand clutching the neck, almost brushing the ends of the jew-length dripping dark strands and pressing the body sitting-leaning underneath him to the wall. Sharp fingernail dug inside the bruised skin, drawing more droplets of blood that landed on the exposed collarbone that the turned night-robe didn't cover anymore and were almost instantly licked away by a coarse lustful tongue.

The rest of the body attached to the tongue was that of a thin muscle body of male, of a warrior still in his black Shinigami robes. And while one hand was still clutching the pale throat of his fellow slightly thinner companion (even if the other is not on duty at the moment- he just got out of the bathroom after some nice evening shower) and friend-for-life, the other hand gripped a sword -its hilt red from both blood and its natural color- with its sharp silver blade sunken deeply up to the guard inside the other's bloody red stomach and its growing crimson stain over the once white fabric. The blade was so deep inside, that it went through the wall and peeked out, shining silver with red in the dark deserted hallway.

Dull violet eyes glazed over the narrowed soulless ones, seeing nothing but red.

The dripping bleeding body around the blade was completely still.

It had already stopped moving only a few seconds ago.

No more desperate hands clawing the floor and writhing in an attempt to escape from under the slightly bigger one whose pinning that pale dainty under him with his iron hold and brutal take. No more pants, moans and silent cries of pain.

No shaking body trying to crawl to flee away. No surprised choked yelp when his escaping attempt shatters as the other suddenly grabs him by the throat and roughly slams him to the wall so hard that his head's back start to bleed, leaving the first of the crimson blood-trails staining the wall and adding to the red pool on the floor.

No more disrupted breathes and choked gasps and dumbstruck whispers.

No wide frightened lavender eyes trying to comprehend what and _why_.

Why this person did what he did; why _this_. Why the very (yet _other_) blade of this very person; his _most precious person _is driven into him, twisting and ripping him inside out and making him bleed his life's sources; both physically and emotionally. Again.

No more of that hand clutching the blood-_-his blood-_stained blade in vagueness and blank haze.

_-Because his most precious person _is _his life source; all of him; every single thing he did was to stay near him: follow him everywhere to anywhere, even to the very depths of Hell, even if it meant the death of him. Suiting himself to the other's ways and aspects of life; letting him almost kill himself and not interfere, just to not lose the other's respect, even though it didn't fit him (-_he _didn't fit. not in 'his' division. Not with his kind of Zanpakuto- soul- not with them. Could he really sit on the sidelines and watch_ him_ die?-) Even going as far as lying and deceiving and hiding his true self and abilities just to keep that trust and being by his side-_

Eventually the blade was roughly pulled out of his bleeding turn stomach, sending more of the crimson droplets from inside out. The motion ticked on its victim, making him gasp in surprise and pain as his eyes snapped wide once more. The dark-clad bald _creature_ stood up on its feet, steadily clutching the stained blade and without as much as a glance turned away, stepping away.

_No more of these shining orbs sparkling with betrayal and despair and hurt and turmoil and pain-_

Another gasp, choked cry with a sound of knees softly hitting the wooded floor- and with a last broken whisper and last orangish ray of sunset shining upon, a single tear was shed and a shaking hand reached out and up, weakly grabbing the back of the black Hakama in a limp grip.

_'...-Ka...ku-'_

Again he was viciously slammed to the wall with a new trail of blood trickling down his forehead.

Again that familiar-yet-new sharp-nailed hand mercilessly grabbed his throat.

...And again the raven-haired Fifth-seat gasped and choked, whimpering to the snake-like tongue inside his mouth and releasing a small uncontrolled moan from his forcefully parted covered lips.

_-Because these small dark stones of the bald 'Shinigami' showed nothing inside, and these dull glassed half-lidded violet eyes had long since lost their spark of life and beauty and see nothing but ocean of splashed red and black._

_He _walked away, leaving behind a broken body sliding down the wall and falling limply to the floor, motionlessly lying in the gory darkened and cold scene of the After-Down.

_Alone._

. . .

_In the memory you'll find me..._

_Eyes burning up..._

_The darkness holding me tightly..._

...

_Until the sun rises up..._

. . .

. . .

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**NOTICE: The next chapter: will not be. This story is going nowhere right now, but I'm NOT deleting it. In the meanwhile, I'm turning this to a series of tragic Yumi-Ikkaku oneshots.**


	2. HeartOut

**Disclaimer:**I don't own Bleach...

**Warning**:... Lot's of gore but if you read the first chapter, than you'll be just fine with this.

**P.s:...**don't criticize me, ok? It's just an idea. I don't know if that's even possible!

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The blood seethed freely from the dark-haired male's chest, just where his heart is_. Was_. The throbs once in place were slipping and crashing between five dirty fingers covered in deep shade of crimson. The beating quickened, becoming louder, stronger and more intense as wide violet eyes focused dizzily on the sickeningly-pink/red-shaded muscle in the man's clutches -his _heart_, in Ikkaku's _bare hand_.

Pressing, crashing, burning, stinging, choking. It hurt. The pain was so immense that he couldn't even scream. He trembled uncontrollably, both from the unbearable pain and the horror of the situation. His breaths came in choked gasps from his slightly parted lips, accompanied by sickening noises of babbling blood raising in his throat and strange cracking\screeching of sort from his broken ribcage as his open chest rose and fell in quick motions. Obviously, he couldn't speak even if he tried.

He wasn't dead yet, though. Several veins and threads still connected his heart and body, and everything from throat below just seemed to shower down in rain of red.

He wondered in haze were he had gone wrong. Ikkaku was going wild in rage, Hollowfied and massacring everything and everyone in his way inside the open hallways of Las-Noches. Lower ranked Arrancar and Hollow haven't stood a chance, and the real trouble begun when he turned against his fellow Shinigami comrades. And really, what chance Kira, Hisagi and Iba had against a raging Hollowfied Third-Seat that just-so-happen to secretly be in the same power-level as a captain by possessing Bankai? it was a miracle they even managed to avoid being blown to pieces and keep their heads attached on their necks for so long.

"... Yu..."

He thought that if anyone beside Zaraki-Taichou had a good chance of stopping Ikkaku, it would be him. Actually, the others too thought that Ayasegawa had the best chances of stopping Madarame's slaughter. After all, he was his best friend for years, he and Ikkaku knew (almost) everything about each other -or at least Ikkaku must _definitely _consider him as a special friend -he would recognize him, right?

At first they thought it worked; when Yumichika suddenly appeared in the bloody scene to try and stop him. Yes, the raging Third-seat _did _immediately abandoned his attempts of trying to sever poor Hisagi and launched himself to shove his friend forcefully back to the wall by gripping his throat so tight he couldn't breath, but he didn't kill him on the spot, unlike all the others he killed without a second thought.

It _was _Yumichika, so naturally they thought it worked; that a person -Ikkaku- would at least try restrain himself from hurting his best friend -Yumichika. They were sure it worked.

Until five-clawed fingers pressed and ripped its way into his best-friend's chest. And it hurt said friend in more way than one.

. . .

'Maybe it's my punishment?' The dying man wondered with violet eyes emptying out from signs of life and awareness, gazing from the clutched heart of his in the bald's hand to his own shaky hand, close to his chest and fingers soaked in blood. 'For trying to be something I'm not, for trying to take a place that's not mine...'

"Yu... mi..?"

'For trying... to stay with him... for-' He cough with ominous sounds coming from his chest and throat, blood never stops flowing. 'For... lying...' He raised the shaky bloodied fingers to Ikkaku's chest, trying to touch the man's heart without really realizing what he was doing. '...to think he trusted me so much and I-...' with a feeble 'huff' from attempting to breath his body lost its balance, leaning forward and falling on Ikkaku chest.

Into Ikkaku embrace.

"...Yumichika?... Oi! at least say somethin-Wha-..."

He felt warm hand tighten around him, supporting his wight. He could no longer move his limbs at all, even his shaking has begun ceasing. He need not to look up to see that Ikkaku was back to himself. He knew he was back, could feel it, smell the familiar the pure masculine scent of blood and sweat of a hard training day of his dear friend, a scent he knew all too well.

Bright violet irises finally glazed in blindness. The grip on the Ikkaku's Shihakusho tightened and Yumichika nuzzled into his neck. Somehow, he felt the black fabric on his back twist in the bald's grip.

"Y-yu-... ch..."

That's fine. It doesn't matter that he was dying. As long as Ikkaku is back to himself and alive, everything's fine. After all, Ikkaku is a tough, strong worrier. And stubborn too. He would be fine. At the very least, Yumichika was glad that he could help Ikkaku snap out of what was possessing him, even if it cost him his life. And as for his own death, Ikkaku never really needed him -Yumichika concluded. He'll get over it quickly.

Ikkaku will live happily and die the way he wanted to. He has a place he belongs to, has friends, has his sword. Yes, Ikkaku will be just fine. Other than that, nothing else mattered.

. . .

"Yu... Yumi...?"

. . .

_'But... then...'_ The grip on the black cloth loosened _'why... did he just sounded so... worried... so... terrified?... almost as if-'_

. . .

* * *

. . .

The arm fell back limply to Yumichika's side, unmoving.

. . .

* * *

. . .

_**"Yumichika!"**_

. . .

* * *

. . .

He never finished that last thought.

.

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**Note:... You know how I said there's only friendship? well, there are two hints to something in here. So, have you noticed it? What are these hints?**


	3. Even In Death

**Inspired by: **Roc A Lot - Even In Death (Au Revoir). It's a beautiful piano instrumental and you can find it on You tube.

**Warning:** ...character's dying?

* * *

I wonder. I keep wondering as I lie here on the cold ground, inside a growing pool of blood, as red as the passion and anger of a betrayed one.

You were loyal, I always knew that. Funny how all these years of following me as if being my second shadow, you never complained, not even once, despite that vain, arrogant attitude of yours.

So I wonder.

I keep wondering as I lie here on the cold ground with a deep slash in my chest. I lie here in anguish, surrounded by a pool of blood, my own blood, the shiny crimson substance that is dripping from the edge of your own stained blade.

I lie here and... I am probably mad. Probably feeling betrayed, frustrated, angry. So I wonder. You were my friend. My longest, most faithful, best friend. Why would you do that? Why would you raise your sword against me in full intent of cutting through my skin and flesh to wound me and shed my blood to death?

Maybe... you have had enough? Maybe you are tired of following me, being my shadow for so long? Maybe you just couldn't set yourself free and eventually snapped? Were you expecting something, something I didn't or couldn't give you and is tired of waiting any longer?

Maybe you have finally realized what kind of a person am I, and now you hate me?

Why is that that lying here in the the pool of my own blood, a fatal wound in my chest made by you, droplets of scarlet dripping from your blade shining in the dead of the night as you are standing here hovering above me with your sword lowered down and I can't even see you face, or move and feel nothing but the searing pain in my chest, why is that only now, after having been wounded by you, betrayed by you, the very last person I expect to do such a thing to me... why is that only know I realize how important you are to me?

Why haven't I realized this earlier? Why haven't I seen that there was something so awfully wrong between us?

I wish we had more time.

...

What I did do wrong, my most dearest friend? What have I done that made you do such a thing? Please, please tell me, surely we can fix things, surely we can go back to like things were before?

Yumichika... please tell me... Where did I go wrong?...

. . .

But you do not answer. You just stand there. Unmoving, unreacting. Making no sound, with my blood trickling down from your sword... probably watching me with cold, hurting and uncaring eyes, wishing me die faster so you could move on already.

. . .

I lie here on the cold ground with a deep slash on my chest. I lie here in anguish, surrounded by a pool of blood, my own blood, the shiny crimson substance that is dripping from the edge of your own silver red-stained blade. As I lie here on my stomach, I watch the red trickle down, shining in the dead of the night as you are standing here hovering above me, and small droplets of wet liquid are dripping slowly from your blade, swirling and merging with the red substance to join the pool of blood on the ground.

. . .

I lie here and I'm not mad anymore. I lie here, and I know I am dying. I lie here, and I shut my eyes, and I wonder.

. . .

____

Why are you crying?

___

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_

**Go listen to the song. Go, now!**


	4. Memory MaSs

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Bleach, and not the music that inspired half of this piece, which is the soundtrack: _Tragic Memory_ by Mitsumune Shinkichi

Basicaly, beside the main idea of this fic, this should contain two other ideas I had for fics starring Yumichika. One: is the black angle which may seem familiar from a summery of an attempted story, and two: the child. you won't get this one cause I wrote nothing about it yet. But I will.

The second idea is Yumichika's memories, though this second idea is actually taken from another Manga... but let's see if you get the main hint of** this** chapter itself first :3. the end is an obvious hint.

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When he woke up, he was dressed in plain white Yukata, and was standing in an open field of hills and golden high grass blowing in the wind and purple tinted skies of sunset. He did not remember how he got there, or where exactly is 'there', or the last memory before his arrival... as if something happened that he just couldn't remember. But he had the feeling it was neither Soul-Society nor the the Living World, and not Hueco Mundo.

Few meters away from stood several human-sized mirrors, not fitting the scene of nature around. One mirror had a beautiful multi-colored frame, colors of all shades glimmering as if the mirror was one unending energy source. Another mirror was framed of midnight blue and grey, and was standing beside a lone dry tree.

The moment he saw these two mirrors he instantly knew where he was, and wondered if his Zanpakuto dragged him here. But he felt so... strange?

Stepping to the colorful mirror he reached to touch the glass with an open palm, but his hand bolted away like thunderbolt. The mirror, which was the gate to where his Zanpakuto resides, has rejected him.

"...Fuji-Kujaku?" He raised his tone, expecting somekind of reaction from calling it the nickname it so hated, but nothing happened. So he tried to call it by it's real name.

"Ruriiro-Kujaku?" He tried to touch the glass again, but it rejected his hand again. It was getting annoying. "If you think it's funny to drugg me here and then ignore me-" a sudden stronger breeze went past him, he suddenly got a dreading feeling and turned around.

Behind him, space twisted and an invisibility barrier dissolved, like a fog that's being cleared from Yumichika's eyes, revealing yet another mirror. This mirror was ominous, Gothic-styled frame of dark-purple crystal, with sharp curves and pure black glass.

This mirror wasn't here before.. no, more it had been thee, for the longest time, unseen, unnoticed, unknown... was it alright to touch it? it looks so... but everything here is connected to him, after all; this is _his _inner world...

The instant his finger came with contact of the glass's surface the world turned to starry indigo night -both grass and sky- and the mirror dissolved to million black feathers, whirling around him and blinding him before flying away out of sight.

Instead, a man was standing in front of him, or rather, floating few inches above the grass, not touching the ground with his bare feet, was an almost exact copy of him, same face, same body, paler in skin, but same bright Violet eyes- perhaps even brighter. And his black hair was much longer, falling freely around his face and shoulder, and his wardrobe consisted of only a Yukata, black-purple in color, like mirror's frame.

And wings on his back. Feathered wings of black so pure like the night itself.

Everything else that was or wasn't there seemed to disappear like nothing was there in the first place, except the open filled, and the night.

The winged creature lifted his hand, reaching forward and grabbed Yumichika's arm with his black-finger-nailed fingers, pulling the hazed man closer and whispering a single, tingling world into his ear, with the receiver repeating it in a dazed voice.

"Blood...?"

Something dripped and he looked down. He was standing in a pool of blood, and the whole down of his white Yukata was stained red.

The black angel was gone and head of him was a small child, about eight in age, standing beside the dried naked winter-tree in front of the midnight -grey mirror. Like the black-winged angel, the child seemed like a younger image of himself; wearing old white robe torn in the edges and face concealed by long black hair. Looking at this child who was him Yumichika knew why seeing him brought back painful emotions and memories to him, but he wondered why this child was out. Then a freezing wind blew on him, and he saw the boy's lips moving with no voice, but could barely make out what he was saying.

So he got closer. Close enough to see the pain in these pale eyes, close enough to hear the the single word departing these frozen lips even though there was no voice.

'Why?'

And he -the child- reached up his right hand, showing somewhat old, never-healing multiple scars on his wrist.

Everything faded to black, leaving only Yumichika and the pool of blood in the open filed of the night.

Why indeed? why was he alive all these years? What made him live till know, with all of these times in his childhood trying to take away his own life.. he wanted to die in his own blood, because no mater how cold was the snow and how white was everything around him, the blood was always so red and warm.

He remembered.

...Why, after he has moved over his past and the painful memories and found a reason to live and a home and someone who he wished, more than anything, to stay with, why after all these years he felt the need to try and kill himself again?

. . .

.

. . .

In the outside world, the last sun-rays of the day shone through the window on a dark-haired Shinigami lying on the floor of his room, drenched in his blood, with a red-stained sword dropped beside the door and a small, greenish-purple glowing orb lying inches away from his open bloodstained fingers.

In the inside worl, a black-winged angel and a past-child voicelessly shoutedwhispered, trying to make him remember something they themselves weren't certain about.

_Rememberremember**rememberre**-_

* * *

Well? Get it? (confusing, I know. And I creeped myself with that last line ._...)


	5. WiNgS

Disclaimer: I don't own bleach, don't own the idea of these wings. That idea perserved to Clamp.

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The old heavy iron door shrieked in it's opening and the first lightrays of a long time fell on the only resident sitting limp in the darkened cell, wearing and old black robe and restrained with chains and shackles on every part of his body. His long, black hair falling freely around his shoulders and vision blurry from the light after being so long in the darkness.

After a few moments he managed to see a man in black standing at the entrance, holding a silver, blood stained sword.

He thought nothing of it.

How long has he been locked up alone in the darkness of this rotten cell? He stopped counting time at some point, not remembering time and freedom, not remembering anything else much either, like himself _-or this black-clad man bowing in-front of him, totally bald on the head, trying to talk to him._

_-At some point, he stopped caring about rescue._

_'Yumichika'_, the man keeps calling him. Is it his name? He can't remember his own name...

_"Who.. are you?"_

Funny though, it feels like he should know this man...

He looks so worried.. and hurt, for some reason...

"... Come on," the man says eventually, and he reaches to remove a strand of hair from his face so he can look into his eyes, and he can see the deep sadness evident on this man's features. "I'm getting you out of here. Get up." It wasn't a request or suggestion in the man's voice. "You're leaving."

"Leaving...?" he whispers in husky voice that hasn't been used for some time now, and stares into the man's eyes. He's not sure what his face showing; probably numbness, tiredness _-or perhaps nothing, because not caring is so much easier._

"Yes, leaving. Now get up." The man orders in stern voice, but he can see the silent pleading in his eyes.

_-he wants him to get up and leave, to return home with him so everything would be back like it's used to - he wants him to remember him._

His own eyelids drift to closing and he leans back. He can't look at him; it makes his chest hurt for some reason.

"...Oi." The man suddenly tags at his wrist, pulling him forward. "I told you to get up!" And by a single glance he can tell the man... is not as angry as much as desperate.. or despaired, actually. "Don't you want to leave this.. this.. _ugly_ place and be-... free?..."

_'So he has finally noticed, huh? It must hard to see _these things _in the dark...'_

What Ikkaku thought as a mess of heavy, thick black iron shackles turned out to be something else, much more troublesome and captivating than just chains.

These were wings; big, grey-black iron wings attached to his back.

Long, thin, round steel bars, tiny screws and various joints, eventually connecting to an especially forged flat, delicate-looking but strong straps of metal; the supposed 'feathers'. Everything was made purely of metal and was dark at color, except maybe the colorful string-like wires stretching and wrapping around the solid grey-black skeleton of steel.

These iron wings were strong, well movable.. and completely **useless**.

Too heavy to fly,

Too skeletal to bear the wind underneath,

Too dark to light the way. He didn't even wanted to think about how they must look on him.

..But he has long since stopped caring about beauty, hasn't he?

. . .

_'Leaving... being free... is impossible.'_

* * *

Insert any sad music you can find.


End file.
